No Goodbyes
by KomodoDags
Summary: Badcop is forced to remember that being an officer is a dangerous job; there were never any promises that anyone would live through it. ((Character death, be warned. Also, please R/R!))


It had all happened so fast. When the deafening blast had filled the air, both knew that something was going to change.

One minute the cops had been back to back, the next only one was left standing, stunned and barely aware of his partner who had dropped to the ground. The muffled, demanding, yells of the radio on his chest buzzed dimly, seeming only to be a foggy background noise as equally blurred vision watched the figure at the end of the alley slip away into the darkness.

The one he was supposed to be chasing right now. But hard as he tried, his legs wouldn't move. He knew what he had to do, but he couldn't. With a gasp he let his gun fall out of his hands and barely heard it hit the ground as he crashed to his knees.

He wasn't even aware of the pain. The only thing that suddenly mattered right now was the figure of his brother, spread out on the ground beside him. Shaking hands reached out and clung numbly to the jacket on the man. His mouth dryly opened and closed several times, at a complete loss for words. The realization was building as eyes glazing with unshed tears met the fresh wound; dark, thick, blood was pouring out like water.

"N-no…" Ragged breath shook him as his hand pressed gently into Goodcop's throat, but received no pulse. He was dead.

The very thought dripped like poison in his mind, seeping into every good thing present and destroying it. His world was suddenly crashing down and he had no idea what to do. He slowly looked down at the radio which was still screaming demands at him, telling him to go after the criminal; 'mourning was for later.'

But death wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be the one to die first and anyways wasn't there always time for goodbyes? Couldn't he have said…_something _to his buddy before…before…?

He swallowed hard and carefully removed his glasses. Then the tears came.

Shoulders shook softly at first and then racked his entire body as he leaned down and grinded his face into the pavement. The gritty pain somehow numbed the inward turmoil just a little and he pressed harder and harder, one trembling hand finding its way to the still warm hand of his brother and grasping it tightly, willing it with all of his might to grip back. But it didn't.

He would never see him again. He would never hear him again. He would never laugh with him or snap at him or just walk with him to the bakery every morning. The comprehension was too foreign to even begin to grasp.

And to think that just this morning they had been vaguely tossing around the idea of visiting their parents tonight after work.

Taking a steadying gulp of air, he looked back up into the still face and shook his head, "_Wha-what am I gonna d-do without you…" _What _would _be done without him? How in the world could he live his entire life knowing that this someone could have been at his side, if they'd just been more careful?

It was his own fault. It had to be. They'd joked before about dying in action, claiming that the other was going to be the one to 'get it' first. But it had never seemed like it could ever become a reality. If only he had looked harder, stood in front of Goodcop, _anything. _

If only he hadn't hesitated to kill that man.

Then, as quickly as the sadness had come, his world lit on fire. Blood boiled to an untamable level and he stood, scooping his gun off of the ground and loading it. His breathing was uneven and hitched as he tried to gain his strength back. That man was going to pay. He briefly rubbed his arm against his eyes, trying to clear it of any liquid and took a fleeting glance back down, trying his hardest to keep his voice stable, "I'll be back…"

Then, he was moving. The world became silent all over again, a blur of colors and distant sounds. He was only slightly aware when he turned the corner to see the criminal still trying to climb up and out of the alleyway. There was no way that he was going to let that happen. No way that this scum-born _animal_ was going to get away with what he'd done.

Before the man had time to react a bullet had been fired straight through his back. Then, as he fell and hit the ground several more busted into his skull. Badcop only stopped shooting when the cartridge was empty; then watched as the bloody mass stopped writhing, realizing that it would never be enough to satisfy him.

His knees began to weaken and before he knew it his face had met the asphalt once more. Wailing sirens pierced his twisted mind and his vision blurred black around the edges until it had consumed his entire sight.

'_Couldn't I have at least said 'Goodbye?''_


End file.
